Reaching the Breaking Point
by Reiven
Summary: [Paralysed!Johnny/Bodhi] Bodhi was given a second chance that he didn't deserve, but it was one fateful article that turned his whole world completely on its head. And maybe it was his chance to finally make things right and prove to himself that he really did deserve this new life with this person who meant everything to him.


**Title** :Reaching the Breaking Point  
 **Sequel to Breaking Point** / **ao3**  
 **Word Count** : 9634 words.  
 **Summary** : _Bodhi was given a second chance that he didn't deserve, but it was one fateful article that turned his whole world completely on its head and maybe gave him a reason to accept that second chance that he didn't really want. Maybe it was his chance to finally make things right and prove to himself that he really did deserve this new life with this person who meant everything to him._

 **Tags** :Bodhi x Johnny Utah. Whump/Hurt/Comfort. Permanent injury. Paralysed!Johnny. First kiss. Domesticity. Bodhi and Johnny just really need each other.

 **Note** : I've written quite a few stories that I'm super proud of, but this one is hands down one of my proudest works.

 **Reaching the Breaking Point**

He was in Peru at the time; a whole other world away on another continent and another time zone, working in a quaint little corner lot coffee shop of all places. It was absolutely the last place he thought he'd ever find himself, brewing overpriced frilly lattes for adolescents and hipsters and young people, too absorbed by the technology at their fingertips; noses buried in their phones and their laptops, unconcerned with the rest of their lives passing them by and the gift of youth they were wasting on disinterest and complacency.

They should be out there, engaging in life, appreciating the beauty of Mother Nature and all the amazing things she had to offer. But instead they spend half their lives indoors, sequestered away from interaction with the rest of the earth's living creatures, living imaginary lives from behind the screens of their mobile devices.

It's just by chance that he happens upon the news article; walking past a student after delivering her latte. She has her laptop open and an English news article on the front page with an official picture of the familiar face in the dark blue dress suit and eyes that are too blue staring back at him. His eyes zoom in immediately on the word 'shot' in the article that all of a sudden feels like it's in a different language altogether. He doesn't realize when his step quickens and he disappears into the backroom, ignoring the calls of his co-workers calling him to deliver drinks to the awaiting customers.

He feels his heartbeat thumping in his chest when his shaking fingers scramble for his own phone. He must have read that wrong; looked at the picture and somehow projected the familiar face from the deep recesses of his memories onto that of a complete stranger—that was a more logical explanation, right? Or a more wistful one. This couldn't be real.

Even when he lost everyone, he still had Utah. Even when they were apart, even after all this time, he found reassurance in knowing that he was out there somewhere; living his life and catching bad guys and whatever else those fancy FBI agents did on the job.

How long has it even been since he's looked upon that face and the mop of blond hair; way too blond and way to eye catching? That's the only reason why he always found himself unable to look away. At least that's what he told himself. That's also the only reason why he let him in even when the guy reeked of cop and why he pulled him out of the water when every instinct in him told him to just let him drown. Death was a part of life after all. Just as Roach had said; they were all going to die, the only question was how.

Instead this persistent guy with the too innocent face and the too blond hair dropped in on his wave despite the odds and almost lost his life because of it. If he died, it would have just been the natural order of things; no one's fault but his own. But somehow Bodhi felt a pull toward this stranger; to this guy he'd never seen before in his life but somehow seemed unsettlingly familiar. He found himself in the water before his brain could even register what he was about to do.

But he saved him, despite Roach's disapproval; brought him onto their yacht and dumped him on one of the seats to regain consciousness and sober up from almost dying.

Everything that came after was like something out of a grim fairy tale; complete with the evil stepmother and the poisoned apple. He was the evil stepmother on the inside and Utah turned out to be his poisoned apple.

But he's looking at the news article and the words aren't making any sense, but it's the painful face from a time in his life he'd rather forget staring up at him almost accusingly.

 _Shot in the line of duty. Seriously injured. Survival uncertain._

He replays those three sentences over and over in his head and it makes less and less sense each time he does. But uncertain means alive at the very least and he latches onto that small bit of hope. He doesn't remember taking off his apron and tossing the tray to the side, hearing it making a racket as it clatters to the floor. He doesn't remember walking out the back door of the coffee shop or walking down the back road towards the small hole in the wall apartment he was renting. He doesn't remember putting one foot ahead of the other or when he reaches the mouth of the alley. He doesn't remember breaking into a sprint for the last three blocks leading to his apartment until he feels his feet moving too fast and the wind starts whipping into his face.

He doesn't even know what he plans on doing or how he's going to get back. He doesn't know if it's even safe for him to go back there, to go see Utah. He doesn't know if Utah is even alive right now but all he knows is he needs to get there, he needs to get back. Everyone he knew and ever loved died a scary and lonely death; something he expected to do himself when he paddled out into the behemoth of a wave rushing terrifyingly and imposingly fast towards him. But somehow he'd avoided death, or maybe death had rejected him instead. Perhaps even death had found him unworthy.

He'd spend the last few years travelling the world, trying to make sense of his life, at his second chance at life and why he'd been afforded the honour when there were so many other people more deserving of it.

Someone like Ozaki.

Maybe it was _Her_ gift to him for completing the eight.

But he's on a plane before he realizes it. Using up all the funds he'd saved through the years working odd jobs here and there to support himself, to survive, all while spending his nights staring up at the blackness of the starry sky asking the heavens _why_?

Why did he survive? Why is he still alive? What did he do to deserve it?

He thinks of Utah and the memory of his face and his smile and he thinks that being alive meant he still has a chance to see him again.

But now Utah might be dying, if he's not already dead, and he's sitting on the plane flying out hoping that at the very least he'd get the chance to see his face one last time and be able to say goodbye.

It's been two days since he first caught a glimpse of Utah's face on the front page of the news website and almost three since the actual shooting. He's standing outside the looming building in the city he hasn't stepped foot in for decades.

Trying to get information on Utah would seem to be the biggest obstacle, he is an FBI agent after all, and from his experience dealing with the Feds or any kind of law enforcement agency, he suspects that they wouldn't be too willing to just hand out information to just any Tom, Dick or Harry, much less someone who looks like him and isn't family.

The mention of family reminds him of the token he keeps close, something he'd found during one of their chases along the way and something he'd kept close to him as a memento of the person who'd punched his way into Bodhi's inner circle of friends and became so much more.

The moment he steps up to the hospital receptionist, a thought occurs to him; a memory of a conversation from once upon a time ago, told from across a small bonfire near the peak of an icy mountaintop.

 _It's not Utah_ , Bodhi remembers him saying. _That's just a nickname_. He wracks his brain for snippets of the conversation; he distinctly remembers Utah mentioning it once in passing; _that_ name, his name; something too ordinary and average and something that didn't fit him at all. Not like Utah. Not the way that nickname suited him to a T.

"Bringer," he nearly exclaims in her face when the name comes to him like a flash of lightning across the sky. "Agent John Bringer," he says with much more control after he manages to reel himself back, brandishing the golden badge like it came completely natural to him. "I just received news that he was shot. He's my—uh, was my former partner."

The receptionist is hesitant for a while and for a moment Bodhi thinks she's somehow managed to see through his fib.

He tries not to visibly exhale when she directs him to the ICU on the fifth floor. He thanks her, using every bit of charm he could muster trying not to look as awkward as he felt and trying to not flinch whenever he catches a glimpse of his reflection on a shiny surface. It's unnerving seeing himself that way; his hair short and slicked back. His hand itches to reach up to brush back the wayward bangs that were no longer. No beard and wearing a smart dark blue suit without the tie. He's pretty sure Utah himself wouldn't recognize him if he were standing right in his line of sight. But it was a necessity. More than three years had passed since the Cortes Bank and he's pretty sure at this point even the FBI has finally moved on. Especially considering the entire world thinks he's dead. But a person can never be too careful or let their guard down so easily.

He did that when he welcomed Utah into their group and look where that lead him.

The ICU is eerily calm. No real sounds of chatter or meaningless conversation, just the muffled backdrop noises and the sounds of life support machines in the background. He keeps an eye out for anyone that looks like they might be an FBI agent or any sort of government agent. Flashing the badge again gets him directed easily enough towards the third room down the hall where a couple of nurses are making their exit.

He flashes them a smile when they pass before he comes to a stop just short of the entrance.

Bodhi couldn't even begin to imagine how bad he'd look until he actually laid eyes on him.

Flanked on either side by a myriad of machines emitting an assortment of different beeping and hissing sounds; dozens of crisscrossing lines leading towards and away from the still figure, woefully unconscious under the crisp white blanket.

Bodhi never thought he'd ever have to see Utah so hurt. He never thought he'd ever have to see anyone so hurt.

Utah is just…completely absent. It's nothing like looking at someone asleep or seeing someone unconscious; the nurses said he was in a coma and up until this point, Bodhi never truly understood what that would actually indicate. He could never grasp the severity of what that meant; seeing someone he cared about in that state until he was looking at him with his own two eyes.

Utah doesn't actually look any worse for wear; no obvious bruises or apparent broken bones, no lacerations or stitches. It was just him, the same face and the same long blond hair splayed out on his pillow. He'd look like he was just asleep if everything about him didn't seem totally vacant and just—not there. And if not for the life support machines and the ventilator and the breathing tube keeping him alive.

He thought he felt powerless when watching someone he cared about die. It was quick and there was absolutely nothing he could do. But this was a different kind of helplessness; looking at someone he cared about _dying_ and not being able to do anything about it.

He takes Utah's hand in his. His skin is cold to the touch, unlike the times in the past, in memories Bodhi pulls out from the deep recesses of his mind, feeling the warm, strong shoulder in his grasp. He looks at Utah's slack face, partially obscured by the tape holding his breathing tube in place and reaches over to run his fingers through the long mane of blond hair, brushing the wayward strands away from his forehead.

"Utah?" he tries, calling the name softly but receives no response. He wasn't actually expecting one. "Johnny?" he tries again.

Utah just sleeps on, unperturbed.

Bodhi uses his cover to convince the medical people to let him stay. In the two days he'd been there not once did he run into anyone coming to visit Utah and he can't help but feel relieved and at the same time both sorry and angry for his friend.

His cover was as Utah's—or rather, Agent Bringer's old partner who was currently undercover on a case and it would be best for his mission and everyone involved that no one was informed of his presence.

He fell into the law enforcement role too smoothly than he was truly comfortable with.

He stays through the night at Utah's bedside, watching his chest rise and fall with every hiss of the ventilator; holding his hand and talking to him slowly, trying to assure him that he's there. That someone is there. That he isn't alone.

In the daytime he makes his presence sparse; only entering when the room is completely void of people, personnel or otherwise.

Eventually Utah begins to stir, but he doesn't actually wake up, and Bodhi can only watch in apprehension from his side. He wakes up only once during that terrible week; bleary, glazed eyes looking around, unfocused and weak. He seems to be looking for something, or someone, but it didn't seem like he found what he was looking for before his eyes slip shut again and he drifts back into unconsciousness.

Once Utah finally regains consciousness, now free of the breathing tube and most of the machines that had been keeping him alive, Bodhi makes himself even more scarce. More agents start coming by for whatever reason and Bodhi stays as far as he can from Utah's room without actually leaving the hospital. At night when Utah has finally drifted off into a fitful slumber and Bodhi knows there's no risk of him jolting awake because of all the medicine being pumped into him. He stays with him then, through the entire night and until the sun rises and the flurry of activity starts back up in the ICU.

He avoids thinking about it, what the nurses had told him, what he overhears the doctors discussing with each other when they think he's out of earshot.

 _The bullet severed his spinal cord_ , they say, like it's supposed to explain everything.

 _Why_? Why did this happen? Why did this happen to Utah? He was a good man. He's still a good man.

Bodhi went out of his way to chase death and every single time he walked away unscathed but now Utah is most likely paralysed because of reasons beyond his control and there was absolutely nothing he could do to help him.

One day he drives out into the house he owns sitting lonesome by the beachside surrounded by white gold sand and the clear blue ocean only meters away. The house had been a beacon of hope in a way a long time ago, back when life didn't seem so bleak. When he had Chowder there as the voice of reason, Roach backing him up no matter what it was about and Grommet snickering in the background.

He didn't want the house when it was given to him. All it was was a reminder of happier times and fonder memories not tainted by tragic losses and death.

He could still see the severity of Samsara's eye roll in the back of his mind and all of a sudden he's overwhelmed by a crippling feeling of loss. They're all gone now. It's only Bodhi left to walk across the creaking floorboards, across the living room to stand morosely by the sliding glass doors leading out to the porch, overlooking the endless sandy beach stretched out into the distance.

He reminds himself that he isn't alone, not really. Utah is still around. He's alive—not kicking though—and the reality of that fact comes crashing down on him. He wonders what Utah is doing right now. It was later in the afternoon so he was probably already done with physical therapy. He was probably back in his room, brooding silently by the window. Not that Bodhi could find any reason to blame him.

On more than one occasion Bodhi found himself wanting to step out of the shadows, step up into Utah's line of sight and tell him that he wasn't alone, because he can see those thoughts hovering around in his head like a dark cloud.

But the truth was that he just wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready to make his presence known or to stand there looking down at Utah knowing that this was the way it was going to be from now on; the simple act of looking someone straight in the eye and locking gazes with a person on an even level was something he'd always taken for granted. He wasn't ready to see the devastation in that gaze and the crack in his soul from up close. He just wasn't ready.

The house is too far from the hospital to make frequent trips back to settle everything he needed to settle and complete everything he needed to complete. So he works relentlessly the few days he goes there before making the long drive back to the city and to the hospital to keep Utah company from afar.

The thought of Utah finally getting discharged seemed like something unattainable just a few months ago, but seeing him excited in his own reserved way, invokes the same kind of happiness inside himself.

Months of planning. Months of hiding and lurking in the shadows. Months of watching Utah slowly deteriorate from the inside out was finally coming to ahead and the moment he stepped through the familiar threshold of the hospital room he can hear his own heart beating inside his chest. Utah isn't looking at him and it feels like a small favour because he'd be able to do this on his own terms.

Utah's reaction was—unexpected to say the least. He expected relief, maybe a little happiness and a lot of anger. But what he wasn't expecting was the tears. He doesn't think he's ever seen Utah cry, not before the shooting, even though he came close to it when Chowder died, not when Samsara died in his arms. Not after the shooting. Not even _once_ through the whole ordeal no matter how painful it was or how devastated he was on the inside. So to see it now from so close; to feel the tears soaking into his shirt and to feel the arm circling his chest and latching onto the material of his shirt so desperately, it's unnerving. He tries to keep his head; he tries to keep cool because if ever there was a time for him to be the _strong one_ , it absolutely was right at that moment.

Utah needed him right now; maybe more than Bodhi really expected him to when he decided to come, but seeing the broken man before him; broken not just spiritually, but also physically and in a much more permanent way. Bodhi promised himself that he was going to be the person Utah needed because just like him, Utah didn't have anyone else in his life.

The instinct came just naturally; like it wasn't anything out of the ordinary or something he hadn't done a thousand times before. That was just the level of comfort he felt around Utah. He didn't realize that the street might not have gone both ways in that matter.

Truthfully he hadn't even given it much thought and he wasn't even actually thinking about it when he stooped down beside Utah when they were by the car and reached for his arm. It wasn't a big deal to him, Utah needed help and he had the ability to help him. In hindsight he realized how selfish he'd been. It wasn't about him, nothing about the situation; _Utah's_ situation was about him. It was about Utah and he should have realized that and respected that since he'd preached respect so many times in the past. But like with everything else in his life, he talked himself out of it and Utah—no, _Johnny_ , hesitantly accepted that help. He understood his friend's reluctance and had the shoe been on the other foot, he doesn't think he would have been able to deal with it with as much poise as Johnny had.

He can see shame in Johnny's reaction and far be it for him to tell someone else what to feel or how to act; he can only dictate his own path and his own feelings and the way he saw it, it was an honour that Johnny accepted his help, that he let Bodhi help him. He hoped that Johnny didn't see it as an obligation on either of their parts. The only thing he wanted to do was ease some of the burden Johnny had been carrying alone on his shoulders. If that meant having to carry Johnny to help ease his burden, then so be it. In a way, it was him giving back, or rather; begin making amends for straying from Ozaki's path.

He realized now how misguided he'd been while traversing his path and because of that Mother Nature chose to take away everything he held dear as compensation.

Ozaki would have liked him.

Johnny.

From the first moment Bodhi laid eyes on the blond man, looking so uncertain and lost. So—disconnected; neither reaction the result of his current predicament, Bodhi saw a glimpse of himself from the past before Ozaki saved him.

From that moment he vowed that he would do everything he could to try save this person the same way he had been saved. That was his way of giving back and he thought he'd succeeded that moment on the side of the snowy mountain watching Johnny descent down the cliff's edge. Gone was the hesitance and the fear and the disconnect. For the first time he thinks that he was finally looking at the real Johnny Utah and he was absolutely beautiful.

He finds himself glancing over at the silent figure at his side, staring morosely out the window at the scenery rushing past.

He was still beautiful.

The conversation during the drive is relaxed and unhurried. It was something they both needed; a bit of a breather after everything that's happened, not just in the last four months, but since that moment on the boat out on the turbulent ocean when Bodhi realized he hadn't failed with Johnny after all.

He didn't know how long they were on the road. It was like time was standing still and rushing past all at the same time; but he noticed Johnny's tense body language and the way he tried to hide the wince. There really was nowhere practical to stop on the road they were on; but the light of the day was slowly receding, plunging the whole area and the deserted road into the darkness. It was just them and the muffled roaring of the car engine rumbling with an echo against the cliff side rocks and Bodhi decided to pull over near the edge where the cliff sloped sharply and there was a sizeable plot of land between the roads and the deadly incline beyond the rails.

This time Bodhi doesn't assume anything before he walks around the car to Johnny's side, pushing the wheelchair in front of him. Johnny is already half out of the car when Bodhi gets there but he doesn't make a move or say anything. He watches the other man intently, waiting for him to make the first move or to say something; to say that it's okay. Johnny doesn't say anything verbally, only through his body language that Bodhi understands like he's been speaking it forever. Johnny still seems uncomfortable, not that he has reasons to feel otherwise, but at the very least he seems to realize that Bodhi was only there for him and that he was willing to deal with everything, the good and the bad that came along with it.

The subtle flirting comes almost second nature, not that he's ever been a big flirt. But being around the other man, even during those short two weeks they were actually acquainted in the beginning, it felt natural; like they'd known each other for a much longer time. There was something about Johnny that put him at ease, just his presence that felt familiar, even comforting.

It feels like they actually fall into some sort of rhythm by the time Bodhi helps Johnny into his chair and for the first time, Bodhi doesn't feel the discomfort radiating off of the other man the way it had been before.

They watch the sunset in a companionable silence and stay for a little while longer after it disappears from sight.

Johnny tries to hide his pain but Bodhi as usual can see straight through him. So they stop at the very first place that has even a whiff of food; Bodhi going in to get some essentials while Johnny keeps the car engine running while parked by the front entrance. After both of them have finished whatever microwaved imitation beef product that was the only thing Bodhi could find that looked half edible and Johnny's taken his more than half dozen different pills with a bottle of refreshingly cool water, they continue on their way.

Bodhi glances over at Johnny from time to time. They've descended into a comfortable sort of silence driving down the dark, deserted road into a future rife with uncertainties. Johnny doesn't glance back but Bodhi isn't offended. The other man looks like he's fighting a tough battle against sleep; leaning heavily against the back of the seat, his head resting against the headrest and his eyes gazing unblinking at a spot outside his window. His eyelids keep drooping and he keeps on forcing them back open.

Without thinking about it, Bodhi reaches over to grasp his shoulder. "Sleep," he says, or rather instructs. Instead of fighting him on it like he'd been with his own waning consciousness, Johnny seems like he'd been waiting for Bodhi to say that exact word because not thirty seconds later, his eyes are closed and his breathing evens out and he finally steps into the warm embrace of sleep.

Bodhi drives through the night as Johnny sleeps on undisturbed. They don't stop again for the rest of the journey. Bodhi isn't hungry and he doesn't have to use the restroom and he isn't willing to disturb Johnny to ask him because it's the first time in four months of watching the other man while he slept that his sleep isn't plagued by crippling nightmares. They pass just one car on the road and the remainder of the drive is done in otherwise complete darkness and isolation.

It's still hours before dawn by the time they arrive at their destination after almost six hours of driving and Bodhi is exhausted. He isn't even sure how he managed the drive the handful of times he made the journey through the course of those four months. But they made it safely and without trouble and Johnny didn't stir even once.

He can feel and hear the popping sounds of his contracted joints when he steps out of the car and stretches; inhaling the cool ocean breeze that rustles the leaves in the distance that feels refreshing against his skin.

With a glance at Johnny's still sleeping figure in the passenger seat, slightly curled into himself facing away from the driver seat, Bodhi gently closes the driver side door without arousing him from his slumber and strides up the walkway.

The house is blanketed in darkness when he enters, only the glow from the moonlight high above in the midnight sky shining through the glass plated windows leading out towards the veranda, allows him to navigate around the sparse furniture in the living room towards the main power box by the kitchen wall in the far corner. He flips all the switches to allow electricity to flow in through the power lines and the moment he does that, he's almost blinded by the stream of light that explodes inside the confined space. It takes him a moment to regain his bearings and adjust the lighting accordingly; as in more 'being able to see shit so that he doesn't walk into it shin first' and less 'indoor lighthouse'.

When he returns to the car, not ten minutes later, he finds Johnny still deeply asleep and he's almost reluctant to wake the guy from such a comfortable rest.

It takes him thirty seconds to come to a decision before he leans down; gently circling Johnny's right arm around his shoulder and gathering his legs and his back in the crook of his elbows; nearly the exact image of yesterday afternoon when they were leaving the hospital, only this time with Johnny's head lolling limply onto his shoulder. He kicks the car door close without jolting the sleeping man in his arms too much, before trekking across the walkway silently, in through the front door, across the living room; his shoes clomping noisily on the waxed wooden flooring under his feet, and into the bedroom at the far end of the hall.

He lowers Johnny down onto the mattress, takes off his shoes and tucks him in under the fleece blanket folded up on the side and only then does he feel like he can finally exhale. Not so much from the walk into the house with the other man in his arms, but from everything that's happened over the last twelve hours or so.

He walks out for a moment to grab Johnny's wheelchair out of the car, lock the front door and check to make sure everything is in order before returning to the room. After making sure the wheelchair was set up next to the bed within reach so that Johnny wouldn't have any trouble to get to it when he needed to, Bodhi walks around the bed to the sofa pushed up against the wall facing the bed and drops heavily onto the cushions; allowing his limbs to sprawl almost unceremoniously across the length and just leans back to watch the rise and fall of Johnny's chest as he sleeps.

He remembers an almost too distant memory, finding himself in an almost similar position watching the same man burrowed under half a dozen pillows sleeping on the deck of the ridiculously over-priced yacht. Watching as the light of the rising sun cast an ethereal glow across his face and making his blonde hair shine up almost like a halo. It felt like a lifetime ago because in a way, it was. His life. Johnny's life. Hopefully their life together from today on.

He doesn't remember falling asleep until he experiences the sensation of waking up; feeling the heat of the morning sunrise warming up his face. A glance at Johnny shows the man still asleep and for a moment Bodhi wonders if there is reason to be worried about his deep sleep, but glancing up and down at the still figure shows no reason to be concerned so he decides to let him sleep a little longer and leaves the room for the kitchen to make himself a much needed cup of coffee. Something strong. Preferably with a shot of alcohol, maybe two. On second thought, maybe he'd forget the coffee all together and just have the alcohol instead.

The atmosphere outside the window is calm and relaxing. It's the reason why he loved that place so much and why he'd decided on it even when he promised himself that he wouldn't step foot in that house or on that property after Ozaki died and his decision only reinforced when Samsara followed him not long after.

But being in the house at that moment with the sun shining and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore lulling him like a calm serenade; coupled with the presence of the man still sleeping in the room down the hall, somehow it all just felt right.

He doesn't know how long he stands there in silence looking out at nothing in the distance and he doesn't notice the movement out of the corner of his eyes or the sound of wheels creaking on the floorboard until he hears the voice calling his name; finding Johnny looking at him from the hallway beside the kitchen when he turns around.

"Hey. Good morning."

"Morning," Johnny greets back almost hesitantly as he moves closer, all while looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings and the house he'd never seen before. "Where are we?"

Bodhi takes a sip of the coffee in his hand, the scorching heat of the liquid oddly soothing when it goes down his throat. "Home," he says, locking eyes with Johnny; obviously the man doesn't find his answer all that reassuring because his brows furrow in confusion and annoyance. So Bodhi adds, "Ozaki built this house a long time ago with his own two hands. He never got to live in it."

That sobers Johnny almost immediately when he approaches and lets out a soft, "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure it's okay—"

"It's more than okay," Bodhi interrupts, deep down knowing what the question was going to be without Johnny having to finish asking it. "I never wanted this house. It just held too much bittersweet memories of happier times and memories that never had a chance to be made. But everything's different now."

"I'm sorry," Johnny says. Bodhi hates when he apologizes for things that aren't his fault or things he never even had any control over. But he's come to accept it as part of Johnny that he'd never be able to fix. He realizes that he wouldn't have wanted to anyway. It was what made Johnny, _Johnny_.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says; grabbing a spare cup, the coffeepot and pushes himself away from the countertop he'd been leaning against, beckoning Johnny to join him at the dinner table just a few feet away, pulling out one of the chairs and pushing it to the side to make room for Johnny's wheelchair. "How was your rest?"

"Restful," Johnny says and Bodhi chuckles. "Did you drive the whole night?"

Bodhi just nods affirmatively. "I didn't want to wake you to ask if you needed to stop for anything or to use the restroom," he says and hopes it doesn't come across as awkward as it felt.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just happy to be anywhere but that hospital."

They lapse into a companionable silence after that to just enjoy their morning coffee. It was one of the reasons why Bodhi enjoyed being in Johnny's company, especially when it was just the two of them; conversation never felt forced or stilted or like it was an obligation. They talked when there were things to talk about, but when there weren't, the silence spoke just as much in their place.

"Not that I don't appreciate—all this," he motions to his surroundings. "But there's still the issue about my things, back at my place. It's nothing immediately important but I've grown pretty fond of my stuff."

Bodhi grins fondly at him. "You underestimate my planning capability, Utah."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Obviously you haven't had time to fully explore the house, but I think you'll find all your monetary possessions safe and accounted for."

Johnny is silent when their eyes meet. "I have so many questions right now which I'm not even going to ask, man. I'll just take your word for it."

"You do that," he replies as he finishes the last sip of coffee in his cup and gets to his feet. "So—tour?"

He walks beside Johnny as they traverse the single story layout of the gorgeously crafted wooden house, pointing out the master bedroom Johnny had exited and the two other guest bedrooms a little further down and across the hall from it. The kitchen area is open, separated from the living room by a marble top counter and the dining table a few feet away. The living room itself has two large L-shaped sofas, flanking a ridiculously furry tan coloured carpet right in the middle and across from the large LCD screen TV mounted on the wall. The furthest wall on the right has a large glass screen sliding door that opens into the free air veranda just outside and the white beachy sands and the ocean not thirty feet away.

The moment they step out into the bright sunlight and get hit by the smell of the familiar ocean breeze, Bodhi can see Johnny physically relax. The difference is tangible like being outside immediately calmed his frayed nerves and the perpetual tension in his shoulders. He remembers a time when neither of those were things he'd associate with Johnny Utah, but that time feels like a thousand years ago.

"It's amazing," he says and Bodhi doesn't need to answer to convey his agreement.

The outside truly was a sight to behold. Their house sat just shy of the actual ocean, on the shore between the beach and the small sandy road surrounded by greenery they had to pass on the drive over. There weren't any other houses or people for miles either way, just the house, them, and the calming presence of Mother Nature always keeping a watchful eye.

There was one last thing he wanted to show Johnny, something he really wanted the guy to see to let him know that he was serious about this.

He gestures towards the handles of the wheelchair, waiting for Johnny to give the okay before he circles around him to take the reins and leads him towards the far end of the veranda where he'd taken apart a section of the wooden rails and built a ramp that lead directly down to the ocean.

He knows Johnny can tell that the addition was made recently because the difference in colouring between the weathered wood that had been there for years as opposed to the ramp which wooden tone was still vibrant and still smelled like freshly cut timber.

They venture down to the seashore together and Bodhi can barely tear his gaze away from Johnny's face; the almost wondrous expression he has on his face as he looked at the foamy water lapping the front wheels of his chair. It's a gorgeous sight to behold but also bittersweet at the same time.

Bodhi thinks of the man who'd been so unafraid of the steep, rock-strewn drop on that snow covered mountain and the reverence in his voice when he said _, 'But it's also perfect.'_ He thinks of his utter fearlessness when he didn't stop at the second cliff when everyone else had been too afraid. Roach had called him broken, but Bodhi thought that was the closest he'd seen Johnny come to being whole.

He didn't give up on Johnny back then, and he wasn't about to start now.

"We should get a dog," Bodhi says, attracting a questioning look. "One of those service dogs maybe. I've always liked Dogo Argentinos."

Johnny is silent before he turns back to look out at the vast ocean that lay before him.

Bodhi almost has to strain to listen when he speaks and the question comes out as more of a whisper than an actual query.

" _Why?_ "

"Well, dogs always make good companions; unless you prefer cats. But I don't think they'd—"

"Not about the dog, Bodhi. Why— _this_? All of this? The house, the drive here; you being at the hospital, you being back here—just, why? Why are you doing all this?"

Bodhi feels his insides drop at the question. It's not that he isn't prepared for it; he had four months to try and figure it out himself and he's not even sure he succeeded in doing that. Why indeed.

"Because—" he starts, testing out the word not knowing whether the rest of it was going to roll off his tongue as smoothly as he wants. "Because you're all I have left."

Johnny is silent. Bodhi doesn't know whether it's because he accepted the answer or because he doesn't. But he speaks again, his voice soft and understanding when he says, "You're all I have left too," and Bodhi allows the relieved smile to spread across his face. "By the way, you're kind of like the human version of a Dogo Argentino actually."

Bodhi laughs and Johnny laughs along with him.

Bodhi cooks for them that night. It's nothing fancy, just some meat with a side of vegetables. But sitting across from the man who's plagued his thoughts for the past four years while they were apart, watching him enjoy the food he cooked and seeing the way he seems almost relaxed for the first time, Bodhi thinks it's the best meal he's ever eaten. All in all, he thinks they're off to a pretty good beginning.

"I want to go down to the beach," Johnny says suddenly when he's gathered up the dishes and placed them in the sink while Bodhi watches him from the dining table.

They'd both changed into a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt after coming back from the beach that afternoon. It felt disrespectful to be wearing jeans or slacks in such close proximity to the ocean.

"Okay."

Johnny lets him take the reins again when they walk out onto the veranda; the light switch by the sliding door turns on the spotlights that illuminate the whole beach front area of the house and the shoreline it stretches out towards. The sky is pitch black in the distance, illuminated only by the smattering of stars spread out like bits of glitter dust in space.

The ocean is calm; the sea surface tranquil, only rippling under Bodhi's feet when he steps into the water.

His body moves of its own accord when he pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it over to the dry sand when he walks up to Johnny; his gait determined and purposeful.

"Take off your shirt," he instructs.

Johnny is taken aback by the request but complies almost hesitantly before Bodhi takes the shirt out of his hands and tosses it to the side where his own shirt lies. He holds both his hands out to Johnny when he steps up to stand in front of him. Johnny looks between his outstretched hands and his face a few times confusedly.

"Bodhi—" he starts, his tone tired, if not a little broken.

"Johnny, just—trust me. Please."

Eventually the blond relents and reluctantly grabs Bodhi's hands with both of his and tries not to flinch back when he suddenly bends down to circle Johnny's arms around his neck; his free arms now circling Johnny around the waist, firmly and securely. Johnny half burrows his face in the crook of Bodhi's neck when he feels himself being lifted up out of his wheelchair and suppresses the shudder that runs through his body at the painful familiarity of being upright again. He's clinging onto Bodhi's neck with as much strength he can muster but he doesn't feel unsecured with the man's strong arms around his torso.

Bodhi can feel Johnny's entire body stiffen up as they're standing so close together. He's holding Johnny's entire weight in his arms but it doesn't feel like a burden at all. Carefully he takes one step backwards after another, until he can feel the cool sea water wash over his feet. Johnny hasn't moved or spoken. He's not even sure if the other man is currently breathing, but he can feel the thumping of his heart against his own chest and it feels soothing.

"Trust me, Johnny. I won't let anything happen to you," he says even though Johnny hasn't said a word. _Not again,_ but those last words go unspoken.

After a beat he hears Johnny's voice in his ear. "I do." And a feeling of pride at the other man's trust and confidence in him washes over him like the waves lapping at his knees.

It isn't until they're a few meters out and nearly chest deep in the salty sea water that Bodhi releases the tight hold he has around Johnny but not fully letting go. Johnny follows his movement a little more reluctantly.

He can sense the nervousness radiating off Johnny and the anxious furrow of his brows when their faces are far enough apart that he can see the other man' expression. Johnny's still holding onto his shoulder with one hand while the other one treads water near his arm.

"You okay?" he asks when Johnny keeps silent.

"Yeah," Johnny replies, looking at his free hand playing around with the seawater; cupping a handful of it and watching fascinatedly as it slowly trickles out from between his fingers. "Just…thinking."

"About what?" he asks again, unable to tear his gaze away from the gorgeous sight before his eyes and the man who's made such a big impact on his life in the most unexpected ways.

Johnny gives his reply some thought before he speaks again. "Just life. My life—how I never thought I'd end up in this position. I guess you never think something like this will happen to you until it does," he says, his tone bittersweet and his eyes sad. "Thinking about the sea and—truthfully, I never thought I'd ever be able to do something like this again. It's kind of funny how life can fuck you up." He looks up at Bodhi when he finishes talking, looking him straight in the eyes, almost like he's staring him right down to the soul. "Thinking about you."

"Only good things I hope," Bodhi says light-heartedly, though it feels like his heart's suddenly started pounding in his chest.

"The best," Johnny replies seriously, reaching up to circle both arms around Bodhi's shoulders and his neck once again, pulling himself closer, or pulling Bodhi closer to himself, you couldn't really tell, but closing the distance between their bodies until there's none.

It's a bizarre sensation, the feeling of two hearts beating almost in unison in so close a proximity.

Bodhi swallows the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He can't bring himself to blink; concerned that he'd miss even a split second of the moment and the sight of Johnny's gorgeous eyes staring straight into his. Their noses are a hair width apart and Bodhi can almost smell the sweetness of Johnny's breath when he exhales.

Bodhi's done many things in his life, initiated most of it while everyone just scurries after him in the background. Only a handful of people have ever stood side by side with him because they didn't deserve to be in a lesser position. Only one person constantly walked ahead of everyone, with him always reaching out, always hoping to even get to brush his fingers on the material of his coattails billowing behind him like a cape.

Roach, Chowder, Grommet and Samsara; they were always there by his side, propping him up higher and following him faithfully to the end.

Ozaki is always and will always be the shadow he's chasing after knowing that he'd never be able to catch up.

Everyone else was just a fleeting moment and a minor detail.

And then there's the man before him.

The shoulder length blonde hair that always made him feel like he wanted to run his fingers through the silky soft strands and the blue eyes that always shone with a sincerity and intensity that Bodhi only ever saw reflected in a mirror.

Bodhi never let anyone else dictate the direction and the path his life would take, he never has and it wasn't until he met Johnny that fateful day out on the ocean that he realized he didn't want to travel that road alone any more.

It only felt right for their first meeting to be out on the great wide sea undertaking one of the world's most insurmountable tasks. And then to find themselves four years on in the exact same position but under terribly different circumstances and as two completely changed men but knowing that whatever it was they both felt that fateful day, somehow it had stood the test of time.

Bodhi was never one to sit back and let someone else take the reins. But when Johnny leans in closer to him, his nose brushing against Bodhi's and his arms tightening around Bodhi's neck; the surrounding suddenly becomes too quiet and too intense and all of a sudden Johnny is too close.

But in the split second before his lips come crashing down on Bodhi's, Bodhi can only think that he isn't close enough.

The kiss is intense and wild, with a raw sort of ferocity and a hunger neither of them have ever felt before.

Bodhi grasps desperately at Johnny's back, feeling his fingernails digging fervently into the skin and he can feel Johnny latching onto him just as enthusiastically in return.

The water ripples and splashes violently around them as they move around. Bodhi feels himself taking a step back as Johnny's lips keep coming at him with a passion he doesn't think he's ever seen in the other man before, not even when they were flying through the skies, headed either towards glory or death. Not even when they were descending down the icy slopes and he was looking at Johnny's back ahead of him, almost disappearing out of sight.

He doesn't know how long it is before they finally pull away panting, but they stay in the embrace. Johnny's face is flushed, his eyes almost glazed over and his parted lips red and plump and he's pretty sure he doesn't look much better.

Nothing moves and neither of them make a sound beside the lapping sound of the water slapping against their bodies.

"Bodhi—" Johnny starts, but Bodhi silences him with an additional kiss square on the lips without waiting for him to finish his sentence.

He pulls Johnny back into the embrace; his arms crossed behind Johnny's back as he reaches up to grasp him on the shoulder, holding him securely in the embrace.

The words leave his lips before he could even give them a second thought and he's glad he isn't looking at his face to see his startled reaction when he says, "I love you."

He can feel Johnny still and his heart plummets into his gut for a split second before he feels Johnny's arms readjust to hold on more securely around his shoulders and he hears the words being whispered into his ear.

"I love you too."

Bodhi doesn't know how long they stay out there in the water in each other's embrace. At the very least, it's long enough for him to feel the wrinkling of his fingertips when he rubs them together.

As if he was reading his mind, Johnny pulls back first; loosening his arms around Bodhi's neck and pushing himself back, keeping Bodhi at arm's length with both hands on his shoulders.

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you for coming back and for being there. Thank you for— _everything_ and giving me back a life. _My_ life."

Bodhi gazes at him intently after he finishes speaking, just trying to absorb every single second of that moment and etching the memory of it and of Johnny's face into his mind.

"It's my honour to do all that," he says and that was all that needed to be said.

Johnny leans in for another kiss and Bodhi's only too happy to comply.

The walk back up to dry land is done in comfortable silence; Bodhi lifting Johnny up into his arms when the water becomes too shallow. Johnny still isn't a hundred percent at ease and Bodhi doesn't think that he'll ever truly be. But for his part, he feels himself sinking into this role with more ease than he thought. He didn't see himself as caregiver or playing doctor, just like he didn't see Johnny as helpless or somehow less of a person. He just couldn't do things the same way other people could, which didn't mean that he wouldn't find a way to do the same things just as well if not better, considering who he was and who he still is.

He knows that Johnny will eventually find a way to be okay with everything, to be okay with himself again and all he wants is to be there to help him along the way.

They're dripping wet and leaving sodden, sandy trails on the floor when they enter and it's the cheeky juvenile grin Johnny has on his face when he looks at the tracks they're both leaving behind that causes Bodhi to burst out into an unexpected laugh.

"Dibs on the shower," Johnny says with a toothy grin.

"That's not fair. You tricked me into laughing."

"I guess you saw straight through me there."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Bodhi says, letting his eyes convey the unspoken meaning of his words.

"You know," Johnny starts as he's turning his chair around, "Considering the size of this place, I'm guessing the bathroom wouldn't be overly small either." This time it's Johnny who lets his eyes convey the unspoken meaning of that sentence.

Once again, Bodhi is only too happy to comply.

It isn't until they're in the bedroom later that night that Bodhi finally finds a moment to reflect on what happened and the ramifications of it. He's standing inside the walk-in closet and had been staring stupidly at the clothes hanging in front of him for the past fifteen minutes.

Everything about this was new; the house, the closet, the living space; the man waiting for him in the bedroom and the sheer normality of everything. He doesn't remember the last time he settled down in one spot for this long and with the actual intention of staying.

In the end he grabs the first item in reach which is a pair of black sweats and a plain black singlet, pulling both on before finally walking back out into the bedroom to find Johnny surveying him amusedly while sitting leaning against the headboard of the bed, and his legs stretched out in front of him and his wheelchair parked close next to the bed. He's dressed in contrasting colours to Bodhi in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, a smirk blossoming on his face when his eyes fall on Bodhi.

"Took you that long to decide on the outfit? Or did you have to settle?" he asks, and Bodhi can't help but smile at the familiar sardonic tone in Johnny's voice again.

"Well, I do have someone I want to impress now," he replies and he tries not to be too smug when Johnny doesn't seem to be able to find the words to reply.

He takes those few short steps over to the bed and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. "Johnny," he starts, inhaling deeply as he eyes the man across from him. "This—all of this is new to the both of us. So—if you're…not sure, it's okay. We both need time to get used to—everything."

Johnny looks like he's seriously contemplating Bodhi's words. But there's not even a hint of hesitation in his voice when he answers. "No. It's—I want you here. I just don't want to be alone."

"Okay," Bodhi says, allowing himself a smile as he crawls across the mattress and plants himself on his side next to Johnny before the other man lays down on his back to join him.

The living room is dark and the rest of the house is silent; the only source of light is from the standing lamps on either side of the bed, illuminating the entire master bedroom and casting a glow on the silhouette of Johnny's face. Subconsciously he stretches across the distance between them to rest his arm on Johnny's stomach, his fingers tracing indistinct patterns onto the exposed skin on Johnny's stomach from where his shirt has inadvertently ridden up. "Ready for bed?"

Johnny covers Bodhi's hand with his own, intertwining their fingers together while stroking the back of his hand with his thumb. "Are you?"

"I am now."

Bodhi doesn't fall asleep immediately after they both lapse into silence. The side lamps have been switched off and the only source of light is the rays from the moon shining in through the glass window.

He looks over at Johnny who seems to have fallen deeply asleep the moment his head hit the pillow and he can't help but flashback to the last four months.

The fateful incident that set everything in motion. Sitting helplessly by that bedside in the ICU, watching his friend, someone he'd come to care so much about fighting for his life; watching the machines breathe for him and keeping him alive; hoping against hope that he'd stay alive and that there was enough of Johnny in there to want to be alive.

Hearing that word coming out of the doctor's mouth had been devastating.

 _Paralysed._

That's what he'd said and Bodhi wasn't sure if he was hearing him right.

But then Johnny woke up from the coma, and it was both a time to celebrate and one of the most heart-breaking moments Bodhi has ever had to experience. But Johnny didn't cry, not even once and Bodhi took his own cue from that.

But Johnny's actually here now; his breathing even and his eyes closed and his consciousness lost in the land of sleep. Bodhi's fingers find the jagged edges of the scar on his stomach, extending from the middle of his upper chest straight down to his belly button; long and grotesque and a constant reminder of everything he'd been through and everything he still had to deal with going forward. But he was alive and that was all that mattered.

Johnny stirs a little when Bodhi's finger hits a particularly sensitive spot but it doesn't rouse him from his slumber.

Bodhi continues watching the man sleep, all the way through the night and into the morning like habit, until he can sense the rise of the sun in the horizon. He's still staring when Johnny finally stirs and his eyes crack open before he turns his head to the right to find Bodhi already gazing intently at him.

Johnny's smile alone is worth all the tasks in the world and when he opens his mouth to greet Bodhi with a raspy, "Good morning," and his hand finds Bodhi's own still resting comfortably on his chest; Bodhi thinks that he has so much to give back to make up for everything he has right now, right in that moment.

He doesn't need nirvana or enlightenment; he already has everything he ever needed right here.

He leans over to kiss Johnny once on the mouth and pulls back to relish in the sight of the gorgeous smile that curls his lips.

"What was that for?" he asks.

"That was because I love you," Bodhi says and the look on Johnny's face alone is worth all the treasures in the world.

 **The end.**


End file.
